“I’ll only fuck you when I see that look—the one that says you want me. That you want my cock because your body craves it, your soul aches for it. Not because your mind is trying to run.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come—instead, his gaze drops, lashes trembling.
“Look at me, krasivy,” I murmur, softening my voice.
He exhales shakily, then lifts his eyes to mine again. And what I see there—God—it wrecks me. Guilt. Apology. And something so raw, so open, it makes my chest ache.
So I offer him a small smile. Not out of pity. But reassurance. I’m not angry. I’m not leaving. I’m right here.
A soft tap hits the windshield. Then another. And then the sky opens, rain pouring down like the world is exhaling all at once. I glance toward it briefly, surprised. I didn’t even know rain was expected today.
When I turn back to him, he’s still watching me. But something’s shifted in his eyes now, like a dam’s cracked inside him. Then, without warning, he grabs the front of my shirt in both fists, yanks me closer, and crashes his mouth into mine.
It’s not soft.
It’s not careful.
It’s raw and hungry, and fuck, it undoes me. Every part of me.
I groan low in my throat as my hand fists in the back of his hair, pulling him closer. His lips are hot, insistent, desperate against mine. Rain drums on the roof like a warning, like a soundtrack to the storm inside us.
He breaks the kiss too fast for my liking, breath ragged, lips red and parted, pupils blown wide. His eyes, fuck, his eyes are that perfect storm of need: raw, desperate, electric. But this isn’t the kind of desperation I’ve been protecting him from. This is him. My Lucas. The look he gives me when his body craves mine. Not to forget. Not to cope. Just to feel.
“I want you, Alex,” he whispers, voice shaking, breath catching like he’s holding back a sob. “Please… please—I miss you so much, I think I might go crazy if your cock isn’t inside me any time soon.”
My control snaps.
“Fuck,” I groan, the word dragging out of my chest like it hurts. Because shit, the way he says things like that, so filthy and honest and pleading, like every part of him is breaking open just to be filled by me.
He means it. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his body trembles slightly, like his skin is screaming for me. This isn’t his trauma talking. It’s not a mask. It’s Lucas wanting, aching, and mine.
But before I can act on it, movement outside the car catches my eye. I see the estate’s butler making his way toward us, holding a large umbrella over his head as rain pours steadily around him.
My jaw clenches. Not now.
I flick my eyes back to Lucas, who’s still watching me with those wide, flushed cheeks, his innocent face giving away nothing of the filth he just whispered.
“For someone with a face that sweet,” I murmur, voice rough with need, “you sure know how to make my cock hurt.”
He blinks, lips parted in silent surprise, but the red flush on his cheeks deepens. His eyes grow hazier, more pleading, and I swear I almost lose it right then.
The butler finally reaches us and knocks gently on the window. I lower it a few inches, fixing him with a glare that has him immediately straightening.
“Sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Alexander,” he says politely, rain speckling his coat. “Your arrival was just announced. Dinner has already started.”
I don’t even hesitate.
“Tell them to go on without me,” I say, voice sharp with command. “We’ll join them shortly.”
He nods quickly, eyes flicking between me and Lucas, clearly sensing the heat in the car. I don’t give him a second more. I roll up the window without waiting for a reply and turn back to Lucas, my expression darkening with the full weight of everything I’ve been holding back.
My voice is low. Firm. Unmistakable.
“Take off your pants.”
FORTY
ALEXANDER
